


Luck

by azephirin



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 100-1000 Words, Alternate Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon, Comment Fic, Domestic, Engagement, Established Relationship, F/M, Porn Battle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-13
Updated: 2010-02-13
Packaged: 2017-10-07 05:52:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/62057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/azephirin/pseuds/azephirin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>"We're so lucky," she whispers.</em> AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Luck

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [](http://oxoniensis.livejournal.com/profile)[**oxoniensis**](http://oxoniensis.livejournal.com/)'s Porn Battle and originally posted [here](http://oxoniensis.livejournal.com/394717.html?thread=21991645#t21991645).

He wakes up, cold—he's kicked the covers down to his feet, and Ava's side of the bed is empty. He pulls the sheet and blankets back up and starts to fall back asleep, but then realizes that she hasn't just gotten up to go to the bathroom: The door is open, the light's not on, and there's no movement within. He pulls on his boxers and wanders out into the living room, half awake.

She's in that enormous patchwork bathrobe of hers, tucked in the window seat with her knees against her chest. She looks small and scared, and his heart turns over—he wants those days to be gone, except they never will be, not entirely, not even with the demon dead and them alive. He doesn't ask what's wrong, because they've both had nights like this. He just settles himself behind her, wraps his arms around her, and feels her slowly relax into him. Their street is dark, quiet—somewhere, the sun is coming up, but here it's still the middle of the night.

"You're gonna freeze, you idiot," she says after a few minutes.

He kisses the back of her neck. "So why don't you come on back to bed and warm me up?"

She nods, and he picks her up. She's built solid—has been known to glare at herself in the mirror and mumble imprecations about corn-fed girls from Illinois—but she's short enough that she doesn't actually weigh very much, especially not compared to Sam. He carries her back into the bedroom, lays her on the bed, and gently unwraps the robe from around her. She's naked underneath, and he takes the boxers back off so that they're bare together under the covers. He runs his hand down her side to her hip, then back again; lets it wander over the fullness of a breast, lets his fingers play over a nipple (which would be pale in the light) and areola (which would be wide and brown). After a moment he leans over to use lips and tongue, and she sighs, settles a leg around his hip, nudges him so that he's on top of her.

He licks at her breasts for a while, teasing the nipples with his tongue, then slides a hand down between her thighs, which part in welcome. She's wet for him, and he listens to her soft moans as he strokes her clit. He kisses her mouth, drinks the sounds that are coming from it, and then he moans, too, as her hand finds his cock, moving slowly up and down and then guiding him to her entrance. He's inside her with one push, and she gasps, neck arching, and he bites a line of kisses down her throat. He's careful, though—if they have to cover up hickeys for the wedding pictures, she'll kill him. She's got one arm around his neck, the other lower, hand on his ass, pressing him in harder and deeper. He kisses her again and gets a hand between them, rubs lightly at her clit, then more firmly when she whimpers. Two more thrusts and she's coming around him, fingers tightening on his skin; he doesn't stop, though, and she shudders out a "Sam!" with her second orgasm. The slick tightness of her cunt and the sharper sting of her nails in his ass set him off, and he's coming inside her in a hot rush of pleasure.

He pants into the sweaty skin of her neck, and they lie there like that for a few moments until he feels her wriggle beneath him. He moves then, pulling out, and they clean up; then he gathers her against him, her back to his chest.

"We're going to be OK," he tells her, softly.

"I know," she says, barely audibly. "It's just...I didn't always know that."

He covers her left hand with his, traces the bare skin of her ring finger. In two days a ring will be there: white gold with aquamarines. For once, there's no meaning associated with them, no protective or talismanic properties: Ava just likes them. No engagement ring this time—she didn't want one. Sam didn't ask her to explain; no explanation was needed.

She finds the corresponding place on his left hand, and they lie there like that, quiet.

"We're so lucky," she whispers after a few minutes.

"Yeah," Sam says, and holds her tighter.


End file.
